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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591023">Threads</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisboun/pseuds/lisboun'>lisboun</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mentalist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:28:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisboun/pseuds/lisboun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From the beginning, he knows she has the potential to be a liability. </p><p>(A series of angsty Jane/Lisbon one-shots throughout the Red John years, from beginning to end. Each inspired by a different randomly-generated word.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been trying to figure out how I can keep writing with smaller chunks of time, and I had the idea to use a random word generator for prompts! Initially each installment was going to be a standalone, but it was a really fun challenge to piece the words together and form a cohesive story. This fic in particular is going to be composed of the first 6 words I generated. I was also thinking that it would be fun to reveal the word at the end of the chapter rather than at the beginning.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>I.</strong>
</p><p>From the beginning, he knows she has the potential to be a liability.</p><p>He comes to the CBI expecting a musty building full of old, dull men in suits. And while there are indeed many of those, he is surprised to also find her there. Small, baby-faced, and with a gentle voice, she appears so delicate. But he knows she is far from it—unless she comes from a powerful family, there is no way she can already be the head of a unit without great strength. Almost immediately he is able to rule out the former, from her sensible shoes and humble demeanor.</p><p>It's a pleasant surprise, finding such an intriguing character in the depths of bureaucracy. It is certainly going to be more interesting working with her than it would be working with some generic, overdue-for-retirement bag. Her apparent contradictions pose a fun puzzle to put together—dainty yet tough, compliant yet curious, solemn yet playful. He expects her quick wit and teasing streak will keep him on his toes, and prevent his days from becoming stale. He's grateful for this extra benefit.</p><p>As he lies on his new (old) couch, however, he sternly reminds himself of the sole reason why he's here. The Red John files. He reminds himself that she is, chiefly, his VIP door access to them. He knows he mustn't forget that. He can watch and analyze her all he wants, but she will not become anything more. She cannot ever become anything more. He must take care to disturb her life as little as possible. Any other connections he had before Angela and Charlotte's deaths, he has cut off for a reason. If he is really going to go after Red John, he has to do it with no strings attached.</p><p>He reminds himself of this again and again, and is able to abide by it during the early days. But the early days do not last. The days turn into weeks, into months, into years. The world keeps turning. And, inevitably, he slips.</p><p>He's only human. The more he works with the team, the closer he bonds with them. He becomes closely acquainted with their mannerisms, their thought processes, their weaknesses, and their favorite flavors of dessert. He had expected consulting to be a simple obligation in return for access to information, but the unit makes it more fun than that. He finds himself teasing them, playing games with them, joining them on family-like dinners and excursions. The heart he so unsuccessfully tries to lock away grows fond of them, and is warmed especially by the one at the helm.</p><p>She stops being just a doorway to him. How could she be, when she means so much? She is clearly the most invested, the most concerned, the most loyal. On day one she had told him to stay away from the files. She had tried to stop him from falling down this path of obsession. He hadn't listened—still doesn't listen—but she keeps trying. He knows she believes his mission is doomed, yet she is still behind him every step of the way, ensuring his safety and continuing to persuade him to save himself. He tries, but he can't bring himself to see her for anything less than what she really is—his guardian, and his dearest friend. The one person who he allows himself to trust unconditionally, even though he had sworn years ago that he would never do that again.</p><p>When Red John asks for her head, he scolds himself for being surprised. Well, scold was putting it lightly. He is furious, berating himself for letting it get to this. At the beginning he set his limits down for a reason, and he hasn't been strong enough to maintain them. Now, he is in the same position as he was ten years ago, foolishly putting his loved ones at the mercy of a monster. This time, however, it stings worse, because he knows it shouldn't be a surprise. It hasn't occurred out of arrogance or naivety as it had with his wife and daughter. This time, he has been aware of the threat all along. But still he has been selfish, allowing himself to indulge in caring so deeply and holding people—holding <em>her</em><em>—</em>so close. He has known from the very, very beginning that she could be a liability. And still, he has allowed her to become the biggest one of all.</p><p>He feels like a joke. Of course Red John has been watching them delightfully all this time, watching him set up the stage for a grand encore. It isn't that Red John has never been interested in her, but that he had been waiting for the right time to strike. The spotlight is shining on her now, and it is all his fault. It boils his blood hotter and drives him even more rabid in his hunt for the killer. His mission becomes no longer just for revenge, but for security as well. She has spent the past decade coming to his rescue. Now, even though she will protest against it, it is his duty to come to hers. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's been a while since I've written in the present tense like this—please let me know if it sounds awkward and I'll adjust it back to the usual past tense.</p><p>I'm not sure how obvious this was, but the randomly-generated word prompting this chapter was liability. Thanks for reading guys! I have the next 2 chapters of this written and I'm editing them now, as well as my other fic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The earthy smell of coffee hits her nose like a drug as they enter the cafe, and her eyes open just a little wider in anticipation for the best part of the morning. It's a small shop, a little old and run down, but in a charming and nostalgic fashion. She feels eyes darting towards them as they make their way over to the counter. It's no surprise—in a town as small as this one, outsiders are bound to stick out.</p>
<p>They sit quietly at a small table in the back, next to a window with an unimpressive view. It's unusual to have such downtime during a case like this, but the trap has been set and now they must wait. She's anxious to nab the murderer. She's pretty certain it was the ex-husband who did it, but something still doesn't feel quite right. Something feels... off. Perhaps, she ponders, that this feeling is simply runover from the <em>other </em>problem that has taken up much of her mind lately.</p>
<p>She raises her eyes up from her stack of case files cautiously, not really wanting to meet his. She's in luck, because he's concentrated on folding an elaborate figurine out of newspaper. It's beginning to take the shape of a bird—perhaps a swan. She knows he'll give it to her, as an apology for keeping her in the dark while he had set up the trap himself. It has been a while since he's said sorry with origami.</p>
<p>It comforts her a little, sitting in the cafe with him, waiting for a killer. Her working, him distracting her while providing wanted company. They are finally returning to a state of normalcy, somewhat.</p>
<p>Things have been different since he returned from his stint in Nevada. There's a new distance wedged between them, keeping them from returning to how they were before. She knows this makes sense. Of course things aren't the same—he had left, upended her sanity, only to return half a year later and inform her that it had been an elaborate ruse. She's still hurt, and he's still ashamed.</p>
<p>And even though his whole breakdown had been fake, he still hadn't come back the same person. She can see that he has grown darker, and more erratic. The gains from his six-month act have shown him the rewards of pushing the absolute limits, and nothing seems too far for him now.</p>
<p>She watches as he fusses over the neck of the newspaper bird, focused on making the curvature as graceful as possible. He seems so peaceful, with his gentle hands and quick mind hard at work over such an innocent project. She knows she can only hope that this peace will grow.</p>
<p>She had held his hand in the desert after the whole doomed operation, as tight as she could to convince herself that he was in fact alive. For twenty minutes they had sat in the sand and she had thanked God for answering her prayers. For a few hours after, she had relished in the relief of his return. But the feelings of comfort had faded quickly and everything else she had felt for the past six months had come rushing back. The fear, the anger, and the bitterness had all resurfaced, along with new confusion over what he had said before pretending to shoot her. It had all laced together and she had found herself wanting to get away from him, wanting to protect <em>herself </em>from him. He had wrecked her and he had not even been there to see it.</p>
<p>As always, though, she had risen above it. It had only taken her a week of not speaking to him before she returned to his side.</p>
<p>The two words still haunt her from time to time, but she hasn't brought them up again. He has shot her down once already, and she doesn't need a repeat. She tells herself that she doesn't care too much about it, that it isn't the right time for this anyway. As twisted as it is, the fact that Red John had asked for <em>her </em>head is validation enough of her high importance.</p>
<p>She's been watching him fold the newspaper for some time now, and she knows that he can feel her eyes on him. He always does. But he doesn't look up and he doesn't make any teasing comments. They both appreciate the silence.</p>
<p>The target is on her back now, she knows. She had first considered this possibility years ago, and the time has finally come. She has installed new locks on her windows, bought a new gun, and updated her will. She checks the back seat every time she gets into a car, she doesn't run after dark, and she keeps her routine variable. It feels practical to be prepared, but she has been chasing the same monster for some time now. She knows that if he decides to kill her, he will find a way.</p>
<p>For now, though, it feels nice to sit and enjoy a cup of real coffee. The cafe is cozy, the croissants are good, and the company is tolerable. She has been sleeping better and her appetite has returned. They are both alive.</p>
<p>When he bestows the paper swan upon her, it is accompanied with an audible, documentable, "I'm sorry." This surprises her—usually the origami does all the talking. She is pleased but masks this quickly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of winning her over. She brushes it off coolly, with a shrug, and points out that he had simply saved her some work by setting up the trap himself.</p>
<p>He shakes his head at this, and she watches his expression become grim.</p>
<p>He tells her that he is sorry for everything.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright so the word that prompted this chapter was cafe. :) Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>III.</strong>
</p><p>As the years go on, he watches as she loses the spring in her step. She's still as strong and diligent as ever, but the stress of the job takes its toll. The murders keep coming, the politics keep pushing, and he keeps meddling. She becomes more high-strung and less adventurous when it comes to his criminal-catching schemes. No matter how much she grumbles, however, he knows that she remains fiercely dedicated to her mission of justice. She always will be.</p><p>He also knows that she is growing tired of him. Tired of his attitude, his lies, his deceptions. He can't blame her. He feels awful causing her pain, but there does not seem to be an alternative. The less she knows, the better. The less involved she is, the better. He would rather her stay away out of self-preserving anger and resentment than continue to be degraded by him. Being open with her would just encourage her to come closer, and he couldn't have that. After all, they were never supposed to be close in the first place.</p><p>But still, he is drawn to her. It becomes harder and harder to push her away, to act like she is a nuisance to him. In times of solitude, he finds himself even preparing defenses for vulnerable situations when it comes to her. He plants nets to catch himself in the moment. <em>No, don't touch her. No, don't let her in. No, don't let her help. No, don't let her know. </em>It wears him down too, and it makes it especially hard to function when his mind is already murky with Red John.</p><p>When he gets the chance to be close to her without consequences, he seizes it. On the journey home from a grueling case in the mountains, she unknowingly dozes off on him. His chest buzzes when her head suddenly slumps down onto his shoulder, settling into the crook of his neck. When he looks down, he sees the small curve of her nose peeking out from dark waves of hair. Her trademark cinnamon scent is amplified with proximity, and he also detects a lighter fruity smell, presumably from a new lotion.</p><p>He takes a deep breath. It pleases him to see her resting—the case had been rough on everyone, which translated to extra rough for her. Letting somebody else drive had been the first clear cut sign of her exhaustion. He enjoys the opportunity to see her at peace, to feel her body free of tension. Taking care not to jostle her, he keeps her on his shoulder and is grateful that it is a long way back to Sacramento. Their teammates in the rest of the car most definitely notice, but do not comment on their compromising position. Closing his own eyes, he takes note of the scene and commits it to memory.</p><p>He makes an effort to treasure moments like this, the small things that remind him he is still alive. They are immortalized in his memory palace, neatly tucked away for a later time. The memory of her in the car is bittersweet because he expects it to be one of the last good ones. He is ominously close to catching Red John now, he can feel it. The list of names in his notebook is growing thin, and the convoluted board in his attic is finally coming together. The end is near—he is trying his best to cherish the present because he can sense darker times coming to meet them.</p><p>He knows things will not be the same after he finds Red John. Things will not be okay. It is a grim truth he must accept, and the likelihood of losing her is the hardest part to swallow. He expects himself to die, go to prison, or have to jump off the grid. He acknowledges but does not fully accept that <em>she</em> may face the same fates. His stomach twists as his mind taunts him with their mortality, and he takes in another breath of cinnamon for comfort.</p><p>She has a whole wing in his memory palace. There are rooms full of her, ranging from little nooks to grand halls. Drawers and closets packed full of memories collected from their years together. From the good to the bad, to the painful and the wonderful, he wants to remember as much of his life with her as he can. It brings him some consolation, knowing that she will live there forever.</p><p>It saddens him to know that her memory does not work the same way, that she isn't able to relive good times like he can. On the other hand, however, he thinks it is for the better. It will, hopefully, allow her to eventually let go of him once he's gone.</p><p>When they approach the rest stop, he gently lifts her head away from him. He lays it against the car window before waking her, to save her the embarrassment of knowing she had been nestled against him for the past two hours.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The prompting word for this chapter was treasure.</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the kind reviews everyone! Just a note that this is going to be AU/non-canon. Nothing crazy, but the prompts gave me some ideas that I felt like would be an interesting alternative from the show.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>IV.</strong>
</p>
<p>That bastard has done it again—gone behind her back and expected her to excuse it just because he caught the killer. It's like the long talk she had with him the other week never happened at all. As always, she's stuck negotiating peace with the powerful people he's pissed off along the way. It's like clockwork to her now, and she doesn't have to put much thought into regurgitating the routine apologies. Still, it's tiresome, and once again she chastises herself for putting up with it.</p>
<p>Despite the formidable stack of unsigned forms on her desk, she drags herself out of the office at sunset. Lately, she's been trying to get home earlier in order to have a proper dinner. It's all a part of her effort to take better care of herself—God knows she needs it.</p>
<p>She's halfway home when she makes the grave realization that her cell phone is still in her desk drawer. Cursing herself, she considers for a fraction of a second just going on without it, but she knows this isn't really an option. As painful as it can be sometimes, she has to be accessible at all hours. People depend on her.</p>
<p>The building is dark as she re-enters, which is to be expected given the late hour. Her stomach grumbles obnoxiously as she marches back into her office to retrieve the damned device. Afterwards, she looks around again to ensure there is nothing else she has forgotten, a little unconfident in her state of mind given that she had left behind something so essential the first time.</p>
<p>As she locks her office door to leave for the second time, she notices a light has turned on nearby. It's coming from around the corner of the hall, and she assumes the office kitchen as the likely source. It certainly hadn't been on when she had first arrived. Her hand instinctively flies down to her gun at her waist as she becomes aware of the potential threat.</p>
<p>She withdraws it quickly though, shaking her head. It's likely just the cleaning crew or security guard grabbing a snack, she figures. She doesn't give it much further thought because she's eager to get home.</p>
<p>As she begins to make her way towards the elevator, however, she hears a familiar voice coming from the same direction as the light. She freezes when her ears pick up her name in conversation.</p>
<p>"You have feelings for Lisbon."</p>
<p>Her heart rate quickens as she processes these words, and she almost trips as she dashes across the main hall to reach the elevator. Part of her wants to get away as soon as possible, but the rest of her is curious to hear more. The latter wins, and she creeps up against the wall across from the elevator bay, poking her head out to peer down the hall.</p>
<p>The lights and the accompanied voice are indeed coming from the office kitchen. She sees shadows cast across the floor, and she can make out at least two silhouettes. One she can identify with certainty, based on her recognition of the smooth, feminine voice. It must be her junior agent. She doesn't want to be too confident about the second identity, but there's really only one person it could be.</p>
<p>Still, she jumps when she hears his voice. Not surprisingly, he doesn't give a direct response. He doesn't confirm or deny anything, instead choosing to lightheartedly comment on Van Pelt's brazenness in presenting a statement rather than a question.</p>
<p>She knows this is not a conversation she is meant to overhear, but it certainly isn't one she can walk away from, either. Her feet stay planted on the ground and she presses her back against the wall, staring at the floor. To his credit, this isn't a discussion she would be keen on jumping into herself. She has only just recently sorted out her own feelings, and she has been quietly working on quelling them. New information, though, could certainly change things.</p>
<p>Despite his efforts to evade the matter, the junior agent pushes on, holding her ground. Her case is well-prepared with an arsenal of observations and evidence supporting what she had posited to him, and with this she prods at him to speak truthfully.</p>
<p>He uncharacteristically flounders, calling the situation complicated, pointing out the dangers involved, proclaiming that well, yes, of course he cares about her boss—he cares about all of them, and of course reaffirming that his priority right now is Red John. The junior agent validates him, but reasserts that she is talking about <em>her </em>in particular, and not the team as a whole.</p>
<p>When he begins babbling about the risks of putting her in harm's way, she is grateful for Van Pelt's defense. The agent matter-of-factly points out that her boss can take care of herself—she doesn't <em>need </em>him protecting her, and he should know that. Her protection is not a sufficient rationale.</p>
<p>The two of them go back and forth for a while. The determination in the young agent's voice is clear—it seems this topic is something she has been wanting to discuss for a while. Usually the more timid one and vulnerable to his tricks, this time it is she who corners him.</p>
<p>Finally, she asks the golden question. "Are you in love with her?"</p>
<p>There is an extended pause before he replies. Her shoulders dig further into the wall behind her as she holds her breath. She finds herself fretting over whether this hesitation is because he is not sure if he should answer, or because he is not sure <em>of </em>the answer. Her heart is racing even faster now, and she feels as if she might hyperventilate.</p>
<p>When he finally responds, his voice is sad but steady, and he lets out a breath that sounds like relief.</p>
<p>"I sure am."</p>
<p>The words are deafening. She can't take any more of this. She scurries through the emergency exit and down the stairwell, not wanting to risk getting caught while waiting for the elevator.</p>
<p>She finds herself flushed as she climbs back into her car, and she knows this is not entirely from sprinting through the parking lot.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The prompting word for this chapter was eavesdrop. I knew right away what I wanted the eavesdropping to be about, haha. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Here is the next chapter. It's a bit longer than the other ones—I didn't intend for it to be but I just had to keep going haha.</p>
<p>The story will continue to be AU/non-canon. Also, I'm raising the rating to a T because of some strong language.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>V.</strong>
</p>
<p>He executes Red John alone.</p>
<p>The cumulation of his eleven-year chase for the serial killer falls on a late summer night. Heat and the smell of saltwater are heavy in the air as he watches his nemesis sputter his last breaths. Red John dies with a sickening smile on his face, grinning in carefree surrender as if he has just lost a low-stakes card game rather than his life.</p>
<p>He resists the temptation to forcefully wipe that smile away, reminding himself that this is not the end for <em>him</em>. Against the odds, he has lived, and he has gotten what he has wanted for so long. Red John, dead. His family, avenged. He doesn't have time to dwell in the moment—the rest of his life is waiting, and he has to move fast to ensure that he will be there to meet it.</p>
<p>The air is thickening with smoke as he drives off, leaving a lick of rising flames behind him. He feels a sudden pang of uncertainty as he watches the fire grow in his rearview mirror, but he doesn't turn back. He has made painfully meticulous calculations for all of this—it will work.</p>
<p>As he zips along the highway, he instinctively reaches for his phone to call her. But he remembers that he does not have it with him. It's hours away, back at his motel where he left it along with his own car, to avoid being traced.</p>
<p>He knows it would not have been a pleasant conversation, anyway. By his own design she is angry at him, and has been for the last several days. He had wanted her as far away as possible both to keep her safe and to keep her hands clean, and this had been accomplished by pushing her away in the most infuriating manner yet. He had known exactly where to twist the knife. It has worked well, though he knows it has come at the price of losing even more of her trust. This pains him, but at the same time he is almost giddy over the fact that he has survived to make it up to her.</p>
<p>The adrenaline high keeps him awake nearly the entire drive back to Sacramento. By the end, the fatigue sets in, but he manages to return his "borrowed" vehicle and slip back into his motel room before dawn. He is itching to see her, to tell her everything. But he fights the temptation to go to her because he still has the rest of his act to carry out.</p>
<p>He manages to get some sleep before the expected calls come in. <em>Mr. Jane, this is the Malibu Police Department. Mr. Jane, we have some unfortunate news.</em></p>
<p>As he has planned, they have found the body in the ruins of his own home. It appears to have been a squatter who had fallen asleep with a cigarette on an old sofa. The back door had been broken into, and the floor had been littered with trash and rum that had functioned as hardy accelerants. What's left of the dead man's fingerprints is nowhere in any of their systems—it will take some time for DNA tests to be run. He knows these will be fruitless, however. The great Red John has died a relatively pathetic death, without a grand finale, without the cape of his legacy. The monster has died a nobody.</p>
<p>The case seems fairly straightforward, but as expected the authorities are a little suspicious given his history with Timothy Carter and Lorelei Martins. <em>Mr. Jane, we have a few questions for you. </em>The Malibu PD liaises with the CBI to coordinate the interview.</p>
<p>She is there when they question him at headquarters that afternoon. Although it has been a few days since they have spoken to each other, she doesn't greet him as she comes in. Instead, she stares into him, giving him a knowing glare. <em>I know what you did. </em>He can see the deep relief in her eyes, too, but this is overshadowed.</p>
<p>Everything runs smoothly. He carefully crafts a demeanor to play the part of a sympathetic, innocent man. He answers all of their questions with ease and successfully reassures them that he has played no part in this tragic <em>accident</em> and that he has no idea who the <em>poor fellow</em> burnt to a crisp might be. After all, Malibu is six hours away, and he hasn't lived in his house in over ten years.</p>
<p>Similarly, after the conclusion of the interview, she leaves without a word. He isn't able to follow her—they keep him in the office for some time longer to generate a statement for him to sign. He reads through it carefully, the gears in his head still grinding to ensure everything falls in line.</p>
<p>It's dark again when he finally gets back to his car and heads to her place. Her neighborhood is charmingly marked with soft streetlights and the soothing sound of chirping crickets. It all seems very peaceful, but he braces himself for the opposite as he knocks.</p>
<p>She is neither surprised nor pleased to see him. He's thankful he doesn't have to resort to picking her lock, but it still stings when she opens the door and stands at the threshold instead of letting him in. She lets out a scornful laugh when he asks her to do so, and makes every effort to ensure the irony is not lost on him.</p>
<p>They argue at her doorstep. He tells her he is sorry, but she flings it right back at him. Exposed to the public ear, they don't dare mention Red John by name. Still, the subject hangs heavy in the air between them. She knows exactly who burned in Malibu, and exactly who is responsible. She knows he has taken his vengeance and that he had targeted her feelings to keep her out. She is undoubtedly relieved he is alright, and that Red John is gone, but she cannot bring herself to accept his actions this time.</p>
<p>Though he understands her offense, he is frustrated. He has pulled all the stops to orchestrate such a great feat, and yet his accomplishment is overshadowed by remorse. The jubilation of his success fades as he watches the deep turmoil in her eyes. She is being forced to make a choice between him and her most cherished values—her morality, honesty, and sworn duty to the law. It is a decision that has been years in the making, but now is the final moment of truth. He begins to wonder if he should have <em>really </em>left, but the thought of his life without her extinguishes this quickly.</p>
<p>Finally, he blurts out what he has held back from her for so long, and what he knows will tip the scales. It doesn't happen by way of grandiose romantic gesture like he had wanted, but rather as an abrupt declaration that cuts sharply into the air.</p>
<p>"I love you."</p>
<p>Her eyes grow wide and her face flares red with anger at the sound of these words. She places two hands on his chest and shoves him backwards, almost toppling him over. "You son of a bitch."</p>
<p>The words drip with resentment, and she turns around to disappear back into her house. She tries to close the door on him but this effort is half-hearted, and he easily blocks it with one shoe in the doorway. He takes this as a sign that, despite her rage, she does not entirely want him to leave.</p>
<p>He steps in and closes the door behind him as she continues to retreat deeper into her home. It appears she is heading for the stairs when he catches up with her in the shadows of her living room. She tells him she is tired, she doesn't care what he does, just leave her alone. Behind her, he reaches out to grasp one of her arms. She doesn't turn to look at him, but doesn't make an effort to pull it away, either.</p>
<p>They stand frozen in her living room, her back to him, for what seems like eternity. "Please," he says. "I meant what I said."</p>
<p>He feels the need to clarify that he is referring to just now, at her door, and not to what he had said to her just a few days ago before leaving her in the dust. The taste of his cold words still lingers on his tongue, and he remembers her venomous response word for word, her wounded expression freckle by freckle.</p>
<p>"<em>Red John is mine."</em></p>
<p>
  <em>"And what about me?"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"What about you?"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Don't I mean anything?"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"You've served your purpose. Now you're... in the way."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Stop putting up a front. I overheard you and Van Pelt."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I don't know what you're talking about."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"A few weeks ago, in the CBI kitchen."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I do not recall anything of the sort."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Come on. Please talk to me. We-"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"There's nothing to talk about. I have to go."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"God, you're such a fucking coward."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Goodbye, Lisbon."</em>
</p>
<p>Now, he can sense her weighing the options in her head, reviewing conversations she's had with herself on this matter. He can feel her try to follow her better judgement and resist him. Her hesitation makes him nervous, but he knows she will do what she has always done—stay, and forgive.</p>
<p>When she finally turns to look at him, her eyes are wet, and her bottom lip trembles. Her arm escapes his grasp with one solid yank, but instead of moving away afterwards, she comes closer. Suddenly she is the one grabbing him, by the collar of his shirt, reaching up on her bare toes to claim what he has been denying her.</p>
<p>Her lips are soft but her kiss is rough, and he can taste the molten anger and frustration laced within the relief and desire. He makes an attempt to soften the embrace, but fails as he finds himself charged with equally strong emotions. Joy surges through him like electricity.</p>
<p>It is, however, muddled by desperation. In light of all of the lies he's subjected her to, he <em>needs</em> for her to believe the truth of his feelings. He tightens his grip around her back, pulling her even closer to him, and repeats what he had told her at the door, with utmost sincerity.</p>
<p>With another crashing kiss she accepts his proclamation, but doesn't reciprocate it outright. He wants to hear her say it, but he knows he cannot expect that of her at the moment. Selfishly still, he pulls back from her slightly and puts the words out there to be confirmed or denied. Or, understandably, ignored.</p>
<p>"You love me too." He says it with a light smile and familiar singsong teasing in his voice, attempting to ease the air around them.</p>
<p>She doesn't bite—her expression remains solemn, her eyes piercing through the dim light. Cautiously, she raises a steady hand to his face and brushes against his cheek. For a second he thinks she may slap him. She doesn't, and instead responds to his statement softly, almost as if talking to herself.</p>
<p>"Of course I do."</p>
<p>This confirmation is more than he had expected her to give him at the moment, and it grants him a great deal of comfort.</p>
<p>She tells him again that she is tired, and breaks away to continue on to the stairs as if nothing had happened. She lets him follow her up. He is still drinking in reality, processing the events that have transpired and how wildly fortunate he has been with the outcomes.</p>
<p>She pulls him into bed with her. They spend the night together, but they don't <em>sleep </em>with each other. Even without sex, it is still intimate. He trades his attire for one of her many sports jerseys and sinks down beside her as if it is his thousandth time doing so. The soft thrum of her heart against him is a comforting reminder that she is safe, and so is he. With this, he sleeps the most soundly he has slept in over eleven years.</p>
<p>She clings onto him possessively, defensively, in the night. Unconsciously, her arms splay out to wrap around his neck, and she lays her head securely against his chest. The feel of her bare legs on him is new yet familiar, because it is something he has imagined many times before. She swings one leg over his, effectively shielding him with her entire body. It is as if she is afraid someone will take him away from her again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So the prompting word for this chapter was "execute," which was helpful in setting up the beginning of the story. Initially I felt obligated to focus more on the actual "execution" of Red John, but I wanted to keep this fic centered on Jane/Lisbon.</p>
<p>One more chapter left! I'm actually kind of at a crossroads right now—I've started planning the next chapter but I'm not sure if it fits into the mood of the rest of the fic. It also involves a lot and I think it would be better served with more chapters. So I might actually take those ideas and build a different fic out of them... I haven't decided yet though! Either way I will make sure this fic gets a proper ending.</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Here it is, finally! The last chapter to this story. Thank you for your patience. Without further ado...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>VI.</strong>
</p>
<p>She forgives him before she forgives herself.</p>
<p>Of course, how could it be any other way? She has spent years at his side, bending her own principles little by little. She primed herself for this. He told her very early on what his intentions had been regarding Red John, and he did not waver over the eleven long years. His lies had been endless, but he was always clear when it came to his desire for vengeance.</p>
<p>And when the time came, she chose to stand by him, despite his clear violation of the law she has built her life around upholding. At the beginning she had warned herself of this outcome, warned herself not to become more than a colleague. And she has failed, to a great magnitude. So it's hard for her to fault him. She faults herself for being irresponsible. (But at the same time, she is not sure she can fault herself for loving him.)</p>
<p>A faint trace of him catches her nose as she brings a hand up to tuck away a stray curl of her hair. They had lazily tossed their coats together on the sofa last night—his must have rubbed off on hers. Though she has had no shortage of it these days, she still takes a moment to breathe in the mix of sweet chamomile and mint. It's a gentle scent, and it induces calm—a very apt reflection of the man himself lately. In life after Red John, it seems he is finally finding peace.</p>
<p>She cannot really say the same. Of course, she is happy with him, and happy that they are no longer hanging by a thread in a serial killer's sick game. But she still worries about him and about the consequences of his actions. He continues to try and reassure her that everything is alright, and will be alright, but she is not so sure.</p>
<p>The church bells chime loudly, and the sound bellows through the densely-occupied pews around her. It's the sound marking 10 o'clock—the start of Sunday morning mass. She rises with the congregation as the priest and his procession make their way to the altar.</p>
<p>The sunlight streaming through the church's stained glass illuminates the priest's head, which seems to be even more scarce of hair this week. She smirks to herself as she imagines the inappropriate comment he would make if he was present.</p>
<p><em>"You know, I worry about Father Tim. Someone should get him a hat. It's December, for God's sake, and they ask us for money every week, can't they afford to turn up the heat in here?" </em>She would elbow him in the stomach, scolding him for taking the Lord's name in vain.</p>
<p>Admittedly, she has found it hard to pay attention to mass recently. She tries her best, of course, but her thoughts float in and out of focus. She feels exposed, guilty, for going to mass every Sunday and then coming home to the arms of a man who has used them to kill.</p>
<p>She doesn't fear him in the slightest, but she fears for his fate in the eyes of God. Though she has turned to her faith for guidance, she has not yet received any encouraging answers. To the contrary, Romans 12:19 has stuck with her. <em>"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." </em>She has prayed for them—for forgiveness, for mercy. But lately she fears this is not enough.</p>
<p>They have discussed it extensively—he has remained firm that he does not regret his actions. He never says it out of stubbornness or arrogance but out of bare honesty, and she can't find fault in him for that. She knows he will never find the remorse to confess his crimes, and that she will never have the heart to turn him in. It may be selfish, but they are finally happy, and they will do anything to protect this.</p>
<p>This week's mass is exceptional in capturing her attention—the chosen scripture is relevant to her predicament. It's Philippians 4:6—<em>"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God."</em></p>
<p>This opens a new door in her thoughts about the whole situation. The priest dresses it up in flowery anecdotes and platitudes in his sermon, but the underlying message is clear to her. She can pray and plea with God all she wants, but ultimately the matter is out of her hands.</p>
<p>It stays with her throughout the rest of mass. The verse is still echoing in her head when she dips her fingers in holy water to make a final sign of the cross before exiting the church.</p>
<p>Philippians 4:6 grants her some comfort, but of course it is not an immediate cure to her worries. The message continues to re-play in her mind as she gets into her car. <em>Do not be anxious. Present your requests to God. </em>Well, this is what she's been <em>trying </em>to do. But is it enough? Her mind feeling heavy, she starts fidgeting with the ever-present crucifix around her neck.</p>
<p>She pauses before starting her car, and considers going back to sit in the church for a while longer. But then a new idea surfaces in her head, and she decides to take a detour on her way home instead. There is a place she feels compelled to visit today.</p>
<p>Alexandria Cemetery. It is a little out of the way, but close enough that she can make a spontaneous decision to go. Once she arrives, she hesitates in the parking lot, starting to question whether it is really a good idea to come here. Nevertheless, she continues on through the cemetery gates and through the sea of tombstones until she reaches the ones of the beloved Angela and Charlotte Jane.</p>
<p>She has been here a number of times before, with him, but today is the first time she is here alone. She hesitates again when she approaches the graves. She feels awkward standing and looking down on them, but it is out of the question to sit on another tombstone. She doesn't want to get her church clothes dirty by sitting on the ground, either, but she goes with this route out of respect.</p>
<p>Looking around, she becomes conscious of the fact that she is empty-handed, and she wishes she had stopped somewhere for flowers. The decision she made to come here had been quick, with no time left to consider the details. Such impulse is very unlike her, she muses. He has rubbed off on her.</p>
<p>She stuffs her fists into her coat pockets and rummages around for the rosary beads she sometimes brings to church, but there is nothing there but coins and loose threads. There is probably a shop nearby that sells flowers, but it is too late for that now. She is already here.</p>
<p>The crisp winter breeze brushes against her as she sits, knees tucked against her chest, in front of the graves. She stares at their simple inscriptions. <em>Angela Ruskin Jane. Charlotte Anne Jane. </em>There are no quotes, no verses, no pictures on their stones. Their date of births and deaths are not even listed, though she knows these by heart already.</p>
<p>It feels strange to be here, alone with them. Also strangely, however, she does not feel like she is invading. She has never met Angela or Charlotte, has not experienced the loss of them firsthand. But still she feels welcome here, in their presence. She is reminded that she is not alone.</p>
<p>She knows enough about his wife and daughter to know that they likely share her disapproval of his actions. They are probably grateful, but also upset at the measures he has taken to honor their memory. Relieved that a serial killer is off the streets, but dismayed that it had been at the hands of their husband and father. Similar to how she feels.</p>
<p>And, just like her, they love him anyway. As much as he loves them. She hasn't asked him outright, but she knows that if anything ever happens to her, he will not think twice before doing it all over again.</p>
<p>From a practical standpoint, it cannot be discounted that Red John had been a serial killer. A monster. And one with deep-rooted connections in law enforcement, as evidenced by their many run-ins with his associates. He had indeed had the right to a fair trial under the law, but it also unlikely that they would have been able to hold onto him long enough for that to happen.</p>
<p>Sure, her man had taken the law into his own hands, had crossed moral and ethical boundaries. But he had also extinguished an evil being who had killed dozens and surely had possessed the potential to destroy even more lives.</p>
<p>His wife and daughter had deserved a long, happy time on Earth. They hadn't deserved to have it cut short in such a horrific way. Seeing them face-to-grave, she starts to feel less unsettled about letting him get away with killing Red John. Glimpses of a universe without the serial killer flash through her thoughts—a universe where Angela and Charlotte would still be alive. She feels a pang in her chest thinking about all the years of pain and grief that would have been avoided.</p>
<p>Selfishly, she also realizes that they would not have met if it weren't for Red John, and she becomes averse to this scenario. But she brushes this away quickly and asks his wife and daughter to forgive her for it. She knows they will understand.</p>
<p>Although she will likely never be able to fully condone his actions, she knows that they were not borne out of hatred or malevolence, but out of deep love. It became tainted with desperation and the desire for vengeance over the years, but love had always been at the core of it all. <em>Surely God will take this into consideration?</em> And it applies to her, too. She loves him, and this is what has brought her to choose him over the law. She is only human, after all.</p>
<p>In the cold quiet of the cemetery, she acknowledges what she has known for a long time. Trying to see the situation through a black-and-white lens will never work. It is a tangle of so many things—love, sin, vengeance, justice, corruption, strife, loss, victory. Deep down, she has long known that these murky waters will never be clear, and now she needs to come to terms with this. It has never been as easy as following the book and having everything fall into place.</p>
<p>She realizes it is time to forgive herself and begin sharing his peace. She deserves some of it herself. There is no use in continuing to burden herself with something out of her control. She will keep praying, of course, but she decides it is time to let go of desperation and worry. <em>Do not be anxious. </em>She has spent a long time without happiness, too. And now that she has it, she deserves to be grateful and enjoy it.</p>
<p>Grasping at this new development, she sits in the company of Angela and Charlotte for some time longer. Whenever he visits here, she knows it is to be with the corporal remnants of his family and not the spiritual ones. He is a non-believer. She knows he is comforted by her faith in the afterlife, by her own belief that his wife and daughter are still watching over him. He has told her a few times that he wishes he <em>could </em>believe, but he just doesn't have it in him. Maybe someday.</p>
<p>Her thoughts are interrupted by a chime of her cell phone, and she wipes her eyes clear with her coat sleeve. She is surprised to see how much time has passed since she left the church. It is him, asking where she is, telling her that lunch will be ready soon.</p>
<p>It's time for her to go. She brushes the dry winter grass off of her clothes and says a quick prayer for his wife and daughter before leaving. She looks back over her shoulder as she departs the cemetery, watching as the graves shrink away and then disappear from view.</p>
<p>Upon reaching her car she sees the rosary beads resting in the driver's seat. They must have fallen out of her pocket. Without a second thought, she grabs them and jogs back to Angela and Charlotte, resting them on Charlotte's headstone.</p>
<p>When she climbs back into her car and finally turns the key into the ignition, she notices that something has shifted. She feels lighter, calmer. Not troubled as she had been prior to her visit. It's nice.</p>
<p>She comes home to him with lunch ready at the table, and the wonderful smell of some sort of fruity concoction in the oven. He is buzzing with excitement over a new local street market, one that they just <em>have </em>to go to as soon as possible. His smile is contagious, and she is warmed by the bliss in his eyes. He moves over to give her a hug hello, which is not unusual these days, no matter how mundane the occasion.</p>
<p>She will tell him about her visit to the cemetery later. For now, she looks around at the wonderful life they have started to build together, after so many years of misfortune. God has given her this—given <em>them </em>this.</p>
<p>Now, she will put trust in her faith and accept whatever fates await them in the beyond. Here on Earth, she will focus on enjoying life with this man, who she knows loves her very much.</p>
<p>She leans into him, the chamomile and mint, and everything after.</p>
<p>
  <em>FIN</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ahh it's done! Thank you all again for following this story. I had such a good time writing it :')</p>
<p>There was no prompting word for this chapter—originally there was one, and I had a very vivid idea of how the story would go. The ending was actually one of the first things I came up with. But then the story kind of took on a path of its own, and I decided that the ending no longer fit. I'm now planning to use it for another story.</p>
<p>It took me a while to figure out how I did want to end this story, and how to end it in the proper way. I wanted the last chapter to fit in with the seriousness of the others, but I didn't want the ending to be too grim. It took me a while to figure out how to write an optimistic ending without making it seem too stark. I thought it would be interesting to focus on Lisbon's feelings in the more immediate aftermath of Red John's death. I wished they had had some sort of on-screen discussion/coming to terms about it on the show, especially given Lisbon's Catholic faith.</p>
<p>I hope the wait was worth it! I have JUST finished season 7, wrapping up my re-watch of the show. It's bittersweet—I'm super sad that it's over and that we weren't able to see more. :( But, all the more reason to keep writing!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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